


I Sleep With Candles Burning

by makothecat



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/F, F/M, No Moving Away, Pennywise Died the First Time, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, no memory loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makothecat/pseuds/makothecat
Summary: The Losers Club are now busy older teenagers with less and less time for one another. Richie is desperate to make a weekend gathering work. Also, is it just him or is he the only one that's not hot yet?(Technically a prequel to Running All the Red Lights, but can work as a standalone)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Denial
Kudos: 2





	I Sleep With Candles Burning

“Haystack, c’mon,” Richie goads his friend, who makes uncertain noises. 

This weekend could be so awesome! Everyone has time for each other, which has become rarer and rarer as they’ve gotten older. They all have jobs now, except Eddie, because mama K won’t let him. It feels like seventy percent of their interactions are through the phone these days, which is what’s happening now. 

Richie is in the kitchen, slumped against the wall of his kitchen while an absurd amount of Jeno's rolls spin around in the microwave. His mom is making tea, half-listening in on him. She’s been doing that a lot more often. It’s like you get a little tetanus and nerve damage from making a blood oath with your pals and suddenly you need an eye kept on you or something. 

“It was just an idea, I’m not sure it’ll even work,” Ben says, and Richie can practically hear the face he’s making. “What if he says no? I’ll have to go to work every day with Joe judging me. What if - what if I get fired?!” 

Joe from A Grand Affair catering is a major dirtbag. But not the high-horse, track-every-minute kind that would fire his most reliable dishwasher for having a little fun. More the “wave a twenty under my nose and I’m yours” brand. 

But Ben overthinks. It’s a curse. 

Richie under-thinks. Also a curse. 

“What if I go with you?” He offers, before he knows it’s even happening. Then Ben makes a small noise of encouragement, and Richie’s mouth runs far away from him. “Just go in like normal and when I’m on my break I’ll run by. Ask him to meet me in the back lot at six, uh, forty-five. That’s all you gotta do!” He says with excitement he has to fake a little towards the end.

Richie has long-since accepted his role in this group; he’s the idiot. He’s supposed to be willing to do anything, gung-ho to make a fool of himself and do the confrontations that Bill is too sensible to take. It doesn’t really matter that the idea came out of his mouth faster than he could process what it would mean, or that now that he’s starting to think it through, it makes him a little nervous. He doesn’t really know Joe, and he’d have to spend his break speeding to and from the catering place on like, $2.05 worth of gas. Richie has a part to play. 

And the reason why he keeps it up floats through the receiver, the relief in Ben’s voice and thankful tone when he says, “Really? Yeah, that could work.” 

So, plans sort-of made, they say goodbye and hang up. Mom should probably ask what ‘that was about’. Richie could physically see her ears perk up. She turns to him, face neutral, and Richie counters her with a similar expression. The microwave screams and slams shut, and Richie backs out of the room with his pizza rolls and a stupid grin on his face that mom returns. She was young once, supposedly. She acts more like a regular mom now, but she isn’t crazy overbearing unless she hears that Richie is going to do something really, _really_ stupid, like try to climb the water tower. Which has only happened twice. 

He wolfs down his nuked haul and changes into his stupid work polo, then is out the door to pick up Bev. Mom chases him down to give him a kiss on the cheek and ask him to grab a half gallon of milk, with a vaguely knowing addition to be careful. She promises a plate of dinner will be on the counter when he gets home, then finally lets him go. 

Richie knows he should probably act embarrassed and grossed out, but he kind of likes the attention. Nearly four years in and it hasn’t lost its novelty. Totally worth the gangrene concerns. 

He rolls up to Bev’s aunt’s apartment complex. She’s waiting outside, and he beeps anyway. It’s a thing. Her neighbors hate him. 

She jumps in the car with an amused smile and tosses her bag at him to get him to stop. He brings her up to speed with the sort-of plan on the drive to the grocery store. 

“I’m gonna have to leave at like six-thirty,” He tells her. She lights a cigarette and he makes grabby hands. Bev takes a long drag, looking him straight in the eye. Then gives in and passes it. “Joe better not want to haggle!” Richie exclaims, pointing at no one with the cigarette. 

Beverly laughs and offers what she’s got on her, except a couple dollars for the vending machine, as extra incentive. Collectively, they have a whole $42.76 to bribe Joe with. 

“I’m pretty sure Joe would go gay for $42.” Bev says confidently, snatching back her Winston. She settles back into her seat, ridiculously pretty in like, the most platonic way possible. You could do anything to Bev, cover her in mud or greywater or, y’know, a Hannaford khaki skirt and red polo, and she’d still glow. She smiles like the cockiest ray of sunshine. It sort of confuses Richie, because he’s not sure when he stopped having a crush on her. Maybe he never did, he just thought he was supposed to. 

As weird as that is, and yes, it is weird, it works better this way. He’s not nervous around Bev anymore, so he’s gotten to know her like anyone else. And Bev is a fantastic person to know.

The two of them work together, but Richie doesn’t even see _her_ as much as he’d like. Bev’s a cashier and he’s a stocker. They part ways at the clock. Can’t even coordinate breaks, because there might be a sudden rush and Bev sometimes won’t make it to the rinky dink picnic table out back where they’re allowed to smoke. 

“So, did Eddie say he could come?” She asks casually as they turn in, flicking their cigarette butt out the window. 

Who knows why everyone defers to him when it comes to Eddie’s attendance. But Richie will take it as a compliment. “That’s what he said. Gonna tell Jabba he’s staying the night at Bill’s, last I heard.” He tells her before they head inside. 

-

Richie nearly misses six-thirty. He rushes through the break room and out to his car, speeds down the road, and arrives only to have Joe put up literally no fight at all and plunk two boxes of cooking wine in his trunk right there and then. Joe seems a little too happy about the deal, and it means Richie will have to hide them for four days, but whatever. Alcohol! 

Ben flashes him two thumbs up from the grimy mesh of the storm door. He looks good, a little dirty and sweaty, which is kind of attractive in an inherently primal fashion. Long sleeves pushed up to his elbows, apron tied around his waist. Almost fake in it’s perfection, like the down-on-his-luck love interest out of a Lifetime movie. His sandy hair is pushed back with a dorky headband that seems to highlight a burgeoning jawline and familiar dimples. Which disappear as Joe heads back inside, Ben hurrying back to the sink. 

Ducking into his car, Richie gives little thought to why he notices those little details about Ben. He’s just slimming out is all, ‘course he’s going to look a bit different. It’d be weirder if Richie didn’t notice. 

He hightails it back to Hannaford’s and clocks back in, eager to finish out the night and fill Bev in on their success. Hopefully even shirk the responsibility of harboring the paraphernalia onto her. What? He did his part, someone else should take the wheel. 

Bev can’t, or won’t, though, he discovers on the ride home. She claims she’s bringing the snacks, so her ass is covered. 

“Fine, but I want Cheez Balls. Brand name, no generic shit,” Richie teases as she collects her stuff, which, when the fuck did it get all over the place? 

Bev sticks her tongue out at him. “‘Kay. Fuck you, bye!” she sings with a grin and swings the door shut. Richie usually sits there until she gets in the door, an unspoken rule that is ingrained in his very soul. She’s just to the steps and he’s about to put the car in drive when she trots back. 

“Didn’t Maggie ask you to get milk?”


End file.
